


Smart

by autumnyte



Series: Boss Alair Cabrera [1]
Category: Saints Row
Genre: Angst, Canon LGBTQ Character, Canonical Character Death, Flashbacks, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 03:20:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1413136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumnyte/pseuds/autumnyte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Boss realizes he's fallen for Pierce. But he already learned the hard way that getting involved with lieutenants is a bad idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in Steelport with flashbacks to Stilwater. Spoilers for SR2 and SRTT. 
> 
> Boss is [Alair Cabrera](http://pierceaholic.tumblr.com/tagged/boss+alair+cabrera).

Every night, when Alair goes to bed and closes his eyes, he pictures Pierce. Sometimes, Pierce is singing along to the radio in the passenger seat, or explaining an elaborate scheme he's cooked up to take on the Morningstar. But most of the time, he's just smiling. 

Alair can't remember exactly when this started. A nagging inner voice warns him that he's developing a problem, but he brushes it aside. He and Pierce have been spending a lot of time together lately--that's all. 

But the nagging voice gets louder and more persistent as the days go by. He finds himself drawn to the Penthouse balcony during a bout of insomnia, where he stares out at the illuminated billboards of Pierce. He can somehow hear his own heartbeat over the noise from the bustling street below, and an unfamiliar knot twists in his gut. 

_Ask Pierce to be the face of the Saints. Great fucking idea._

He starts thinking about Pierce in the shower. He lets his mind roam as his own warm, soapy hand drifts lower. He gets hard imagining Pierce in there with him, naked and wet, baring the well-sculpted muscles he's certain are hiding under those designer suits. He strokes himself and fantasizes in vivid detail about kissing Pierce, touching Pierce, being fucked by Pierce, bringing Pierce over the edge--what he'd taste like, how he'd look, the noises he'd make, the words they'd whisper to each other. 

He comes hard and fast, rinses himself off, and rests his forehead against the shower tiles, breathless and more than a little concerned. 

_You need to get laid, Cabrera._

Fortunately for him, finding willing sex partners has never been a particular problem. He knows how to turn on the charm when necessary, and he has a knack for finding people who just want to use his body in the same way he wants to use theirs. He has only three rules: safe sex, no attachments, and they can't be in the Saints. 

Over the course of a month, he fucks a dozen different people in a dozen different ways. It doesn't help. 

He's thinking about Pierce's mouth while he makes out with a helicopter pilot named Maria in the Penthouse elevator. He's thinking about Pierce's cock while he and some college guy named Joey--Jesse?... no, Joey--take turns sucking each other off in the bathroom of Smiling Jack's. And he's thinking about Pierce's tattoos while Sam, a tattoo artist, straddles him on the pool table and takes off their shirt to reveal the ink beneath. 

Alair can't remember the last time he had an orgasm which didn't involve thinking about Pierce. 


	2. Chapter 2

Pierce confronts him over beers at the Broken Shillelagh. "Don't take this the wrong way, Boss, but word on the street is you've been fucking your way through Steelport. You going for a record, or what?" 

Alair swallows a lump in his throat and forces a laugh. "You jealous or something?" 

"Psshht. Why would I be? I can get some, if I want to."  


"Yeah, I know you can." Alair's lager tastes bitter all of a sudden. He sets the bottle down. "What's up with the third degree, then?" 

Pierce lowers his voice and leans in closer. "Are you sure it's smart to be bringing all these random people back to the crib? What if they're Syndicate spies or assassins or some shit? You remember what happened with those fake hos in disguise." 

"Yeah, and I also remember that the party was your bright idea." Alair doesn't meet Pierce's gaze. "I'd like to think I'm a little more discerning than Zimos in who I invite over." 

"Discerning? Shit. From what I hear, you banged a different person every night last week and two on Sunday." 

"So, what, you got the gang keeping tabs on me now?" Alair forces himself to look Pierce squarely in the eye, leveling a glare at him. He knows he hasn't exactly been discreet, but the thought of being under a microscope is infuriating. 

"No, it's not even like that. Don't get all pissed off. You know I wouldn't be worth shit to you as a lieutenant if I didn't have eyes everywhere." Pierce reaches out and puts hand on Alair's shoulder. 

Alair feels the warmth from that touch ricochet through his entire body. He's torn between shrugging off the gesture in irritation and never wanting Pierce to let go. 

"And I wouldn't be worth shit as a Boss if I wasn't smart about who I fuck. This is me being smart. Trust me," Alair says, practically overcome with the urge _not_ to be smart, to grab Pierce by his lapels and kiss him senseless. 

He doesn't. Because he can't afford the price of foolishness. Neither of them can. 

"If you say so." Pierce frowns and takes a swig of beer. "You know, Shaundi's been worried too. None of this seems like your style. Even back in Stilwater, way after Carlos--" 

_Carlos._  


Alair hops off his stool, grabs his leather jacket, and heads for the door without a word. He can't stay there and finish that conversation with Pierce. He can't listen to another word about Carlos. Not then. 

"Shit! Come back. I'm sorry. You know I didn't mean anything by that!" Pierce calls out, as the tavern door slams behind Alair. 

His cell phone rings a minute later as he's speeding away. It's Pierce. He lets it go to voicemail. It rings again a few minutes after that. Shaundi. He tosses the phone into the river as he drives across the bridge. 

_Fucking thing was a piece of shit anyway._


	3. Chapter 3

Alair had noticed Carlos subtly attempting to put the moves on him from the moment they broke out of the Stilwater Penitentiary together. He'd responded with some mild flirting, but never seriously entertained the possibility of anything happening between them. 

But Carlos was persistent about it, if a little awkward, due to his shyness. After being made a Saints lieutenant, his moves shifted from subtle to overt. 

"Hey, you wanna kiss me?" Carlos asked after a game of Zombie Uprising, turning sideways on the loveseat in Alair's compact Prawn Court basement apartment. 

Alair laughed and tossed down his controller. "Why the fuck would you ask me that?" 

"I don't know. It seems like you want to, sometimes. You stare at my mouth when I talk. And I've seen you check out the rest of me, too." Carlos put a hand on Alair's thigh. "If you want to hook up, I'm game." 

Alair could feel the hand against his leg trembling slightly, so he tried to keep his tone gentle. "Carlos, it wouldn't be a good idea." 

"But, you're into guys, right? My brother told me you were." Carlos withdrew his hand. "I know he was partly saying it to make me feel better. It was right after he found out about me... being the way I am. But he wasn't lying, was he?" 

"No, he wasn't lying." Alair reached over and placed his hand on top of Carlos's. He remembered what it had meant to him, the first time he met another banger who wasn't straight. "I'm into all types of people, but that doesn't mean I automatically want to fuck everyone. And I don't get involved with other Saints. Ever." 

"I'm not asking you to date me or anything. We could just have some fun together." Carlos returned his hand to Alair's thigh and stared up at him with big brown eyes. 

_Fuck, I do want to kiss him._  


"It's not that I'm not tempted, Carlos. I mean, you're cute and hot--" 

"And I bet you're horny as hell after being in that coma for so long." 

Alair sighed and closed his eyes. He _was_ horny as hell. "This wouldn't be your first time with a guy, would it?" 

Carlos shook his head. "Hell no. I look a lot younger than I am. I've been around the block plenty of times." 

"How many guys you been with?" 

"Uh… six?" Carlos said slowly and unconvincingly. "Alright, two. But we had all kinds of sex. Believe me, I can handle whatever you throw at me." 

"I believe you." Alair smirked and ran his thumb along Carlos's cheek and jaw. "If we do this, it's just for fun, right? Nothing changes between us. I still expect you to work hard for me." 

Carlos licked his lips. "Really, really hard," he whispered, leaning in closer.  


_Oh, fuck it._  


Alair cupped Carlos's face between his hands and pulled him in for a kiss. He was surprised by the skill and intensity with which Carlos returned it, and even more surprised when Carlos pushed him back against the loveseat and climbed on top of him, straddling his lap. 

"Jesus," Alair muttered, tilting his head back against the cushion. 

Carlos peeled off his tank top and tossed it across the room, then smiled down at Alair. "I wasn't bullshitting about having been around the block."  


"Good." Alair trailed his fingertips down Carlos's back and kissed his neck. "Tell me what you like."  


"I like lots of things… anything." Carlos hesitated for a moment, then whispered against his ear, "You."  


Alair knew the smart course of action would be to stop right then and there, before things got messy. 'Don't shit where you eat,' Dex used to say. And it had been good advice, regardless of how much of an asshole the guy dispensing it turned out to be.  


But Alair also wanted Carlos. Really wanted him. There was something about the kid that got to him, made him feel a way he hadn't felt in years. He didn't want to be smart about this. And if the goddamn leader of the Saints couldn't do something foolish every once in a while, what was the fucking point of it all?  


Alair gestured over to his bed. "C'mon, then. Let me show you what I like."  



	4. Chapter 4

The day Carlos died, he and Alair woke up in each other's arms. Carlos had spent the night at the Downtown loft, just as he'd done the five nights prior. 

"Buen día... _Alair_ ," Carlos said, rolling over to kiss him softly on the lips.  
  
Alair groaned. "I knew I should've never told you my name. You know I hate it." 

"Hm. You sure seemed to like it last night, when you had me screaming it." Carlos traced his fingertips over the tattoo on Alair's chest. "Want me to refresh your memory?"  


"Yes." Alair gave Carlos a quick kiss and sat up in bed. "But later. I don't have time this morning and neither do you. We need to get a jump on the Brotherhood before Maero retaliates." 

Carlos sat up too, rubbing his eyes. "Why the rush? Don't you think that radioactive tattoo will keep him out of commission for a while?" 

"Maybe it will, maybe it won't. He's a big dude. Either way, he's going to want to strike back at the Saints, and we need to be ready." Alair slipped out of bed and opened the dresser to rummage for clothes. 

Carlos began to shake out his rumpled outfit from the prior day, which had been balled up in the corner of the bedroom. "You know, I've been sleeping over here a lot lately." 

"I wouldn't say you've been doing much sleeping." Alair grinned and tossed a faded black t-shirt, jeans, and a pair of purple boxers onto the bed. 

"I was thinking maybe I could keep a couple things here, for the nights I stay over." 

Alair shrugged and started digging around for his purple riveted belt. "Why not? Keeps me from having to drop your ass off every morning." 

Carlos remained silent for a few minutes. Alair didn't understand why he wasn't moving, until Carlos blurted out, "Am I your boyfriend or what?" 

"Huh?" 

"Am I your boyfriend? I want to know." 

"Seriously?" Alair turned and rolled his eyes pointedly. "What are we, in fucking high school? You looking to wear my letter jacket?" 

"No… Jesus. I'm just trying to figure out where I stand with you." 

"You stand naked in the middle of my fucking bedroom. Isn't that enough?" Alair shook his head. "Carlos, I told you from the start, I don't do the whole boyfriend or girlfriend thing. It's not me." 

"Well, you also told me all of this was just for fun." Carlos gestured between them. "But that stopped being true a while ago, didn't it? Or am I imagining things?" 

Alair felt his chest tighten. It had never been true to begin with. He took a deep breath. "What do you want from me? A marriage proposal? I'm not that guy." 

"Shit, I'm not asking you to be." Carlos sat back down on the bed and stared at the floor. His voice was quiet. "I meant what I said before. I only want to know where we stand. You and I never talk about this. Are you still seeing other people? Do you want to? Do you still like being with me or are you getting sick of having me around all the time?" 

Alair sighed and put down his belt. He joined Carlos on the bed. "I like you. I like being with you. I'm not seeing anyone else, I'm not fucking anyone else, and I'm not planning on it. But I'm not making any promises, either. If something changes between us, I'll let you know. That's the best I can do." 

"Good. That's all I wanted." Carlos looked at Alair with a big, bright smile. "But, it does sort of sound like I'm your boyfriend." 

Alair laughed and threw his t-shirt at Carlos's face. "Get the fuck out of here with that smile. Fine. If it makes you happy to think of yourself as my boyfriend, be my guest. But you're not getting a fucking letter jacket."  



	5. Chapter 5

After driving back from the Broken Shillelagh like a bat out of hell, Alair arrives at the Penthouse alone for the first time in weeks. He snaps his fingers and points to the elevators, and the handful of Saints hanging around beat a hasty retreat. 

He reaches into his pocket to call up someone, anyone, but then he remembers what happened to his phone. 

_Fuck. Why the fuck did I do that?_

He doesn't even recall how he obtained the phone to begin with, though he's pretty sure Shaundi just handed it to him one day. 

He decides to deal with it tomorrow, blasts some loud, angry music, and paces around the crib, arguing with himself about Pierce. 

_You can never be with Pierce._

_I fucking know that!_

_It would be like Carlos all over again, maybe worse._

_I fucking know that. Except... what if it wasn't? Pierce is nothing like Carlos. Pierce knows how to handle himself._

_Johnny knew how to handle himself too, and look what happened to him. None of the Saints are invincible. If you get with Pierce, you might as well paint a giant fucking target on his back for all your enemies._

_Fuck._

_And you've got a lot of enemies in Steelport._

_Fuck._

_You can't afford to take that chance and pay with his life._

_Don't I at least owe Pierce the truth? Shouldn't he get a choice?_

_There is no choice. You both chose a long time ago, and you know it._

When Alair finally climbs into bed and closes his eyes, he doesn't see Pierce. He sees visions that haven't plagued him in a while--Carlos, on his last day alive. 

Carlos, smiling at the realization that he's Alair's boyfriend. Carlos, sneaking into the shower afterward to give him the last handjob he'd ever give. Carlos, kissing him on the lips and whispering, 'nos vemos,' before walking out the door. 

Carlos, chained to a truck and dragged around, his limbs bouncing unnaturally against the pavement as Alair tries desperately to catch up. Carlos, bloody, battered, torn, and broken beyond recognition. Carlos, in as much pain as Alair has ever seen anyone suffer. Carlos, begging to die, not with words, but with those big brown eyes. 

Alair runs into the bathroom and stands in the shower, not even bothering to undress, spraying cold water over his head until he's numb. When he's finished, he peels off his wet clothes, throws on a t-shirt and boxers, and wanders into the kitchen to make himself a pot of coffee. 

_Fuck sleeping._

But even when he's not closing his eyes, the images persist. And by the third cup of coffee, it's no longer Carlos he sees lying the pavement, it's Pierce. It's Pierce's face, all blood, ripped flesh, and exposed bone. It's Pierce's eyes, pleading for death. It's Pierce's hand, going limp and lifeless in his own. It's Pierce he's killed. 

_There is no choice, and you know it._


	6. Chapter 6

Alair hears the elevator doors open, just as the first rays of morning sunlight are beginning to flood in through the glass windows. He's still sitting in the same chair, wearing only boxers and a t-shirt that's a size too small. He's lost track of how many cups of coffee he's imbibed. 

Pierce dashes into the room and doubles over, completely out of breath. "Boss! You're alright! Shaundi tracked the GPS on your phone to the bottom of the river and no one was picking up here. Nobody'd seen you, either. We split up and been looking all over. For a minute we thought--nevermind. What happened to you? You look like hell." 

"Pierce, if this is supposed to be an apology, it's a pretty fucked up one." 

"Hang on a second." Pierce holds up his index finger and answers his cell. 

Alair overhears him telling Shaundi that he's been located. In his bleary-eyed state, Alair is torn between guilt and amusement over the confusion caused by his phone tantrum. 

Pierce hangs up and sits down in the chair opposite him. "I am sorry. I mean it. I'm not just saying that because I thought you might be dead for a minute there. I was out of line last night, and I shouldn't have overstepped." 

Alair nods. "I was pissed off at you. But some of what you said might have made... a little bit of sense." He pinches the bridge of his nose. 

_Lie through your teeth and make it convincing. Pierce can't know the truth._

"I think Johnny's death made me want to find a way to feel more alive. So, I went on, let's call it what it was, a sex binge. A bender, if you will. And that whole Johnny death thing was definitely the reason for it. Nothing else. But I feel like I've got all that out of my system now. So I'll probably just go back to, you know… my normal amount of fucking." 

_Jesus, Cabrera. For a crook, you are a lousy fucking liar._

But Pierce nods, seeming to buy the explanation, or too uncomfortable to press the issue. "That's… good to know, I guess. Do you want to tell me what else happened last night? Like why your hair's sticking straight up? And how your phone ended up in the river?" 

Alair touches his hair, remembering the impromptu shower. "I don't want to talk about it." 

"That's cool." Pierce leans forward in his chair. "But... you and me, are we good?" 

"Yeah, we're good," Alair answers sleepily, getting a little lost in Pierce's features. 

"Did I get something on my face?" Pierce asks, when Alair is still staring at him a minute later. 

Alair snaps out of his reverie quickly enough to cover. He points at Pierce's chin and smirks. "Yeah, looks like you got a little speck of something right there." 

"Hey, now! Mock my facial hair all you want, but this look inspired a whole fashion craze. Guys are going into their barbershops asking for the 'Pierce Washington'." 

"You sure that's not the actual name of their barber?" 

Pierce tosses a throw pillow at Alair and leans back in his chair, wearing an exasperated sort of smile. 

Alair commits that smile to memory, storing it along with all the others. If he has to be haunted by images of Pierce at night, smiles are infinitely better than the alternative. 

"Looks like you could use some fresh air, Boss. Want to go for a drive? Listen to some music?" 

Alair nods and stands up. He needs to practice hanging out with Pierce and not acting all weird around him. And he doesn't want to be alone, not after the night he had. He heads toward the elevator. "Let's go." 

"Uh, Boss?" 

"Yeah." 

"You might want to put on some pants." 

"Good call, Pierce." 


End file.
